This erotic short story was written for SnakkOmSex. If you would like to read Norwegian language stories click here.
For more English language stories click here.

So, I’m standing there in the Spar on Stationsvej in Randers, Denmark, halfway through a lousy microwaved burrito that tastes like cardboard, when I catch her staring at me from over by the chip aisle. Randers, man, it’s not exactly the place for big thrills. Small town, grey and miserable most of the time, and the most exciting thing around is usually the Friday night crew at Café Mathilde getting loud and sloppy over cheap Tuborg. But there she is, this girl with a messy bun and a beat-up hoodie, just eyeballing me like I owe her something. Look, I’m no catch, okay? I’m just Søren, 34, a little thick around the middle from too many late-night kebabs at Grill House on Østervold, and my beard’s more laziness than any kind of style. I figured she’s probably just bored, or maybe I’ve got salsa smeared on my face or whatever. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, give her a half-hearted nod like, what’s your problem? She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t crack a smile either. Just keeps staring, clutching a bag of salt and vinegar chips like it’s some kinda prop.

Later, I’d find out her name’s Maja, a local who works at the Netto down near Randers Regnskov, that tropical zoo that’s basically the only tourist trap we’ve got. But right then, I don’t know a damn thing about her. All I know is her eyes are glued to me, and it’s not the kinda look you get when someone’s just judging your sad excuse for a lunch. It’s… I dunno, intense? Hungry, maybe? Not in a weird, creepy way, just… direct. Like she’s figuring me out for something that ain’t a fight. I finish off the burrito, crumple up the wrapper, and chuck it in the bin by the door. I’m not about to play some dumb staring contest in the middle of a freaking convenience store, you know? But as I’m heading for the exit, she moves fast, cutting me off by the energy drink cooler.

“Hey,” she says, her voice kinda rough, like she’s smoked too many cigs or maybe she just doesn’t talk much. “You’re Søren, right? From the auto shop on Vestergade?” I blink at her. Yeah, I work at Randers Auto, fixing up rusty old Volvos and whatever junk people roll in with. It’s a dirty job, pays decent enough, keeps me in beer and covers rent for my crappy flat above the bakery on Kirkegade. But I’m not expecting some random chick to know who I am. “Uh, yeah. And you are?” I mumble, not exactly winning any charm awards. I’ve never been smooth, never will be. “Maja,” she says, shifting the chips to her other hand. “I’ve seen you around. My brother had a beat-up Skoda you fixed last month. Said you’re pretty good with your hands.” She says it straight, no smirk or anything, but the way she’s looking at me makes my neck feel kinda warm. I’m not an idiot, I can spot a line when I hear one, even if it’s low-key. Still, I’m not sure if she’s just messing with me or what.

“Alright,” I say, scratching the back of my head like a dope. “Yeah, I guess I’m decent with cars. What’s this about?” I’m thinking maybe she’s got a flat tire or some engine issue, though she doesn’t strike me as the type to drive anything nice. Her sneakers are all scuffed up, and her hoodie’s got a hole near the cuff. She looks… regular, you know? Like me. Just another person grinding through life in this damp, dreary town where the wind off the Gudenå river always reeks of wet dirt. “Nothing to do with cars,” she says, stepping a little closer. The Spar’s not packed, just some old dude buying lottery tickets at the counter and a kid messing with his phone over by the magazines, but it still feels odd, her closing in like that. I can smell her, kinda like cheap shampoo mixed with something sharper, maybe cigarettes. “I just… I dunno, figured I’d say hi. You’re always at that shop or grabbing stuff here. Seems like you’re not the type to chat up random people.”

She’s not wrong there. I mostly keep to myself. Got a couple of guys I grab drinks with at Baronen on weekends, but I’m not out here making buddies or trying to pick up girls. Last time I even thought about dating, it was a total mess, some chick from Aarhus who dumped me ‘cause I’m “boring” since I didn’t wanna drive an hour for some overpriced hipster brunch. So, nah, I don’t chat up strangers. But Maja? She’s not waiting for me to make the first move. She’s just… there, keeping the convo going like it’s nothing. “Well, hi then,” I say, feeling like a complete moron. “You, uh, live around here?” Stupid question, I know. Randers ain’t big. You see the same faces at Kvickly, the same drunks hanging outside Værket, that old theater turned music spot. But I got nothing else to say. “Yeah, over by Hvidemøllevej,” she answers, naming a street in the industrial part of town, all warehouses and cheap-ass apartments. “Not exactly a mansion, but it’s home. You’re on Kirkegade, yeah? Above that bakery that always smells like burnt bread?” I nod, a bit weirded out she knows that. Small town, I guess. People talk. Or maybe she’s seen me dragging myself up the stairs after a long day, covered in grease.

“Yeah, that’s me. Smells better than the bread tastes, believe me,” I mutter. She lets out a short laugh, more like a huff, and shifts her weight to one hip. “Look, I don’t got all day to stand here shooting the breeze in a Spar. You doing anything tonight? I’m meeting a friend at Café Slap Af down on Rådhustorvet. Nothing special, just grabbing some drinks. You should come.” I just stare at her. Café Slap Af is this little dive bar near the town square, sticky tables and overpriced pilsners, but it’s got a vibe. Mostly older folks and a few oddballs hang out there, not the trendy types. I’ve been a handful of times, usually when I’m too wiped to drive somewhere better. But this? This ain’t the kinda invite I expect on a random Tuesday. “You for real?” I ask, half thinking she’s gotta be screwing with me.

“Hey, I’m not kidding,” she said, rolling her eyes just a bit. “I’m not asking you to put a ring on it, Søren. Just come out, grab a beer, meet my buddy Lasse. He’s a decent guy, works down at the harbor, always got some stupid story to tell. I just figured… I don’t know, man, you look like you could use a break, a night out or something.” I wasn’t sure how to take that. Was she feeling sorry for me? Or was there more to it? I’m not totally clueless, her vibe wasn’t just casual, you know? There was this odd little edge, like she was throwing something out there, waiting to see if I’d grab it. And this Lasse dude, some harbor worker? I couldn’t tell if this was a joke, a setup, or what. But, yeah, I was curious, I’ll give her that. Most of my nights are just me, a six-pack, and whatever crappy show’s on DR1. This… this was something else. “Okay, fine,” I said, shrugging like I didn’t care, even though my stomach was doing some weird flip thing. “What time we talking?” “Eight,” she said, a tiny grin finally showing up, but it wasn’t all warm or flirty. More like she’d just scored a point or something. “Don’t be late, alright? I can’t stand waiting around.” “Yeah, yeah, sure,” I mumbled, still not a hundred percent sure what I was signing up for. She gave me a quick nod, spun around, and headed to the counter with her bag of chips like it was no big deal. I just stood there for a sec, feeling like a complete idiot, then shoved through the door into the freezing Randers air. The wind smacked me in the face, smelling like rain and the river, and I zipped my jacket up tight as I dragged myself back toward the shop. I still had a few hours left on my shift, plus a busted transmission waiting to give me hell, but my head wasn’t on work anymore. I kept thinking about Maja, that rough edge in her voice, how she didn’t bother playing all shy or cute. And Lasse, what’s his story? Was this just a casual drink, or was there something I wasn’t picking up on? I’m not one to overthink crap, but as I walked past those old brick buildings on Vestergade, past the barber shop and the shuttered butcher, I couldn’t shake this weird feeling that tonight was gonna be… off. Not bad, maybe, just different. I wasn’t sure if I was up for it, but screw it, I was going anyway.

The rest of the day at the shop was a slog, elbow-deep in engine grease, trying to wrestle with that damn transmission, but my mind kept wandering back to Maja. Her stare, that voice of hers, the way she just tossed out the invite like it was nothing. By the time I punched out, scrubbed the grime off in my tiny bathroom above the bakery, and threw on a halfway clean flannel, it was already damn near 7:45. I hustled down Kirkegade, cutting through the tight little streets toward Rådhustorvet, the town square where Café Slap Af sits squeezed between a pawn shop and a kebab place that always reeks of burnt onions. The November air was biting at my face, and the streetlights threw these long, gloomy shadows over the cobblestones. Randers at night isn’t exactly charming, just quiet, kinda depressing, but I didn’t give a crap. I was late, and I didn’t wanna come off like a total flake. I shoved through the door of Slap Af at 8:05, the little bell jingling over the low buzz of chatter and some old Danish pop tune crackling through lousy speakers. The place was half-dead, just a handful of rough-looking guys nursing beers at the bar and a couple in the corner who looked like they’d fought one too many rounds. The air was thick, stinking of spilled lager and old cigarette smoke that’d been baked into the walls long before the smoking ban. I spotted Maja right off, parked at a shaky table near the back, a pint of Tuborg sitting in front of her. Next to her was this guy I figured had to be Lasse, big shoulders, buzzed hair, rocking a beat-up Carhartt jacket like he’d just come straight from the harbor. They were cracking up over something, but Maja’s eyes snapped to me the second I walked in, and that sharp, knowing smirk of hers came right back. “You’re late,” she said, not mad, just pointing it out. She kicked a chair out with her foot, motioning for me to sit. “Thought you were gonna ditch.” “Got stuck at the shop,” I muttered, plopping down. Up close, I noticed she’d switched things up since I saw her at Spar, still in a hoodie, but a different one with a faded Nirvana logo, and her hair was down, kinda messy but somehow on purpose. She smelled like that same cheap shampoo, mixed with something a little sweeter, maybe gum or some kinda lip stuff. “So, this is Lasse, huh?” “Yup, that’s me,” the guy said, sticking out a calloused hand. His grip was solid, the kind you get from lugging crates or whatever they do down at Randers Havn. “Heard you fix cars. I got a junky Opel that’s been rattling like hell for weeks. Maybe you could check it out sometime.” “Yeah, sure, swing by,” I said, not really into it at the moment. My attention was on Maja, the way she was leaning back in her chair, one hand on her glass, eyeing me like she was waiting for me to do… something. I grabbed a beer from the waitress who barely even glanced at me, and we just sat there for a while, talking nonsense. Lasse went on about some dumb story with a drunk sailor falling off a dock last week, and Maja laughed, but her eyes kept flicking over to me, these quick little looks that made my skin tingle a bit. I’m not some smooth operator, like I said, but I’m not blind either. There was something in the air, and I don’t just mean the stale bar stink, some kinda tension I couldn’t quite figure out. After my second beer, I was starting to loosen up, not feeling like such a stiff moron. At some point, Maja had slid her chair closer, her knee brushing mine under the table. First time, I thought, okay, accident, but then it happened again, no mistake, her leg pressing just enough to make it clear.

I shot a quick look at her, and she didn’t even flinch, just arched an eyebrow like, “Well, what you gonna do now?” Lasse was still yapping away about some fishing trip or whatever, but I’d tuned him out ages ago. My heart was racing, and I could feel the warmth of her leg pressed against mine, her cheap jeans rough where they rubbed on my own. “You alright?” she muttered, real quiet, under Lasse’s droning, like she could read my damn mind. I just nodded, feeling like an idiot, and took a big swig of my beer to hide how my throat had gone all dry. She smirked, that little knowing look, then leaned in close, her breath hot on my ear. “Bathroom’s in the back. Wait a minute, then come find me. Lasse won’t notice, he’s already half-drunk.” I froze for a split second, brain scrambling to catch up. Was she for real? Right here, in this crummy bar with sticky floors and a jukebox that’s been busted since forever? But her face didn’t leave any room for guessing, she meant it. My stomach did a weird flip, not bad, just… hell, surprised, I guess. I’ve never pulled something like this, not out in the open, not with someone I barely even know. But I didn’t tell her no. Just gave a tiny nod, barely a thing, and she slid off her chair, mumbling something about needing to pee. Lasse didn’t even glance up, still going on about cod or some crap.

I sat there, counting to sixty in my head, feeling like some dumb teenager sneaking around behind someone’s back. My beer just sat on the table, half-empty, little drops of water sliding down the glass. Finally, I stood up, muttered something about hitting the john, and made my way to the back. The hallway was tight, barely lit by this flickering bulb that looked like it was about to die, and it stank of piss and bleach. The bathroom door, unisex, ‘cause this dump doesn’t care, was cracked open a bit, and I pushed through, heart pounding way harder than it had any right to. Maja was there, leaning on the sink with her arms crossed, looking like she’d been waiting forever. The bathroom was tiny as hell, barely enough space for two, with a cracked mirror and a toilet that probably hadn’t been cleaned all year. “Took you long enough,” she said, stepping right up before I could even get the door shut. She didn’t mess around, grabbing the front of my flannel and yanking me in, her mouth slamming into mine. It wasn’t soft or cute or any of that nonsense, just raw, her lips rough, tasting like beer with a little hint of mint, probably from some gum. My hands went to her waist without thinking, grabbing at her hoodie, feeling the heat of her skin underneath. She shoved me back against the door, the cheap wood shaking a bit, and her hands were already at my belt, fumbling but quick. I wasn’t much smoother, pushing her hoodie up, my rough hands, callused from the shop, sliding over her stomach. Her skin was warm, soft in spots, but I could feel how tense she was, wired up just like me.

“Fuck, come on, hurry,” she mumbled against my mouth, and I got my belt loose, jeans slipping down as she tugged at the zipper. I was already hard, pressed tight against my boxers, and when her hand slipped in and grabbed me, I couldn’t hold back a grunt. Her grip was firm, no messing around, just fast and urgent, stroking me while she bit at my lip, hard enough to hurt a little. I pushed her toward the sink, kinda half-lifting her so she was sitting on the edge, her legs spreading so I could stand between ‘em. Her jeans were still on, but I could feel the heat through the denim as I pressed against her, grinding a bit while my hands slid under her shirt again, shoving her bra up. Her chest wasn’t big, just enough to hold, but the way her nipples got hard under my thumbs made my head spin. She hissed, head tipping back against the mirror, and I leaned down, taking one in my mouth, tasting salt and skin while she yanked at my hair, not gentle at all. “Get these off,” she growled, shoving at her own jeans, and I helped, pulling ‘em down just enough to show her underwear, plain black, already damp when I brushed my fingers over it. No condoms, no time to even think about it, and honestly, neither of us seemed to give a damn right then. I pushed the fabric aside, feeling how wet she was, hot and slick, and she let out a low groan when I slid two fingers in, a little rougher than I planned. Her hips jerked, and she grabbed my wrist, not to stop me, just to push me deeper, while her other hand kept working me, guiding me closer.

I pulled my fingers out, slick from her, and lined myself up, the tip brushing against her, bare and way too damn tempting. Her eyes locked on mine, sharp and hungry as hell, and she gave a quick nod, like, “Go for it.” I pushed in slow at first, feeling her stretch around me, so tight and wet and hot I nearly lost it right there. She gasped, nails digging into my shoulder through my shirt, and I thrust harder, the sink creaking under her. The angle sucked, her jeans still half-on, bunched at her thighs, my pants sagging just enough to move, but we didn’t care. It was sloppy, fast, the sound of skin hitting skin and her short, sharp breaths filling up the tiny space, mixing with the faint drip of that leaky faucet. I could smell her, sharp and musky, along with the stale bleach stink of the bathroom, and my hands gripped her hips tight, probably hard enough to leave marks, as I kept going, deeper, feeling her tighten around me. She muttered something, maybe a curse, maybe my name, I couldn’t make it out, her voice all rough and shaky, and her legs hooked tighter around me, pulling me in like she couldn’t get close enough.

Man, my shirt was practically glued to my back with sweat, and I could feel this crazy pressure building up, way too fast, but hell, I wasn’t about to stop. Not now. I kept going, my thrusts all over the place, uneven as crap, and my knees kept smacking into the sink cabinet every few seconds with this annoying little thud. Maja’s hands were everywhere, one scratching at my back like she was trying to leave marks, the other pressed against the mirror, smearing up the already grimy glass. Her breathing was all messed up, these short, rough grunts coming out every time I pushed in, and damn, I could feel her tightening around me, gripping like she wasn’t gonna let go. I was losing it myself, the heat and how slick she was just driving me up the wall. I knew I wasn’t gonna hold out much longer, not with her hips moving like that, meeting me every time, her thighs shaking as they clamped around me. “Fuck, don’t stop,” she hissed through her teeth, head thrown back, neck all bare, a thin layer of sweat catching the faint light in this dump of a bathroom. Stop? Nah, I couldn’t even if I tried. I shoved a hand between us, kinda fumbling at first, until I found that spot just above where I was inside her, rubbing hard with my thumb. She reacted right away, sucking in a sharp breath, her whole body jolting, and she cursed again, louder now, her nails digging into me so hard it stung. Did I care? Not a bit. I kept going, circling rough, feeling her get even wetter, the mess of it all slick on my fingers, dripping down where we were connected. Her legs squeezed tighter, heels digging into my ass, and then she was there, I could tell by how she clenched around me, hard and pulsing, her mouth open like she couldn’t even make a sound at first, until this low moan slipped out. That was it for me. The pressure in my balls was too much, and I grunted, pulling out just in time, barely, spilling onto her thigh and the edge of the sink. Hot, sticky, a total mess I didn’t even think about cleaning up in the moment. My chest was heaving like I’d run a damn marathon, lungs on fire, and I slapped a hand on the wall to keep from just falling forward onto her. She was panting too, still kinda propped on the sink, jeans shoved down, underwear all crooked, a streak of my cum on her pale skin mixing with the sweat and whatever else was there. For a second, we just stayed like that, trying to catch our breath, the tiny bathroom feeling even smaller now, the air heavy with the raw smell of us, her musk, my sweat, that sharp tang of, well, you know. It wasn’t sexy or hot like in some dumb movie. It was just real, kinda nasty if I thought about it too much. The faucet kept dripping, this steady plink-plink cutting through the quiet, and I could hear the muffled bass of some shitty pop song from the bar through the thin-ass walls. Maja moved first, pushing herself up a bit straighter, wiping a hand across her forehead. “Well, shit,” she muttered, her voice all hoarse, not even looking at me as she tugged her underwear back into place and wrestled her tight jeans up. I stepped back, pulling my own pants up, fumbling with the zipper ‘cause my hands were still shaky as hell. My dick was softening, sticky against my boxers, and I felt this weird mix of relief and, like, what-the-fuck-do-I-do-now awkwardness. I’ve never been good at the whole “after” thing, even in less screwed-up situations than banging in a dive bar bathroom. “Uh, you good?” I asked, sounding like a total idiot, wiping my hands on my jeans since, well, there sure as hell wasn’t a clean towel around. “Yeah, fine,” she shot back, short and to the point, hopping off the sink and smoothing her hoodie down. She glanced at the mirror, not to fix herself or anything, just to wipe off the smudge her hand left with the edge of her sleeve, like that even mattered. Her face was all flushed, hair a damn mess, but she didn’t seem fazed, not really. “We should get back before Lasse starts thinking we drowned in here or something.” I nodded, not sure if she was kidding or what, and just followed her lead as she pushed past me to the door. My legs felt like jelly, but I held it together, the ache in my knees from slamming into the cabinet reminding me how stupidly cramped this whole thing was. She didn’t look back, just cracked the door open, peeked out into the hallway, and slipped out like nothing even happened. I waited a beat, maybe ten seconds or so, then followed, the flickering light in the hall making me squint after the dim bathroom. Back at the table, Lasse was still there, nursing another beer, looking half-asleep now. He barely looked up as Maja slid into her chair, grabbing her glass like she’d only been gone a minute. I sat down too, my beer all warm and flat by now, but I took a sip anyway, just to have something to do with my hands. My skin still felt hot, kinda prickly, and I could smell her on me, faint but definitely there, under the stale bar stink. Lasse mumbled something about another round, but I wasn’t even listening. Maja caught my eye for just a split second, barely a glance, no smirk or nothing, then looked away, sipping her drink like we hadn’t just fucked each other raw five minutes ago. We sat there for another twenty minutes or so, the conversation dragging on. Lasse rambled about some boat repair crap, Maja tossed in a couple of comments, and I just nodded along, feeling totally out of it, my head stuck replaying the bathroom over and over even though I didn’t wanna keep thinking about it. It wasn’t some big, meaningful moment or any of that bullshit. Just a quick, dirty thing, done and over with. When Lasse finally said he was heading out, yawning and scratching at his buzzed head, Maja got up too, saying she had an early shift at Netto. I muttered something about being tired, paid my tab with a crumpled 50-krone note, and we all shuffled out into the cold Randers night.

Man, the air smacked me right in the face, all sharp and wet, straight off the Gudenå. I yanked my jacket zipper up to my chin while we stood outside Café Slap Af for a quick second. Lasse gave me a solid clap on the shoulder, mumbled something about that damn Opel again, and then shuffled off toward the harbor side of town. Maja stuck around for a bit, hands shoved deep in her hoodie pockets, her breath puffing out in little clouds in the cold. I kinda thought she’d say something, y’know, maybe crack a joke or toss out a “catch ya later,” but nah, she just gave this tiny nod, like we were randoms crossing paths on Stationsvej or something. Then she turned and headed off toward Hvidemøllevej, her beat-up sneakers scraping on the cobblestones, until she vanished around the corner by that kebab spot.

I just… stood there a little longer, not even sure why. The street was dead quiet, except for some far-off car humming along Østervold. My body was still kinda wired, muscles aching like I’d been hauling bricks, but my head? Empty. No deep thoughts, no regrets, just… nothing, really. I finally started walking back to Kirkegade, the wind nipping at my ears something fierce. Passed by the dark windows of the pawn shop, then that graffiti-covered wall by the old post office. Down by my flat, the bakery was all shut up, no smell of burnt bread tonight, just the usual damp, river-y stink hanging around.

Got upstairs, kicked off my boots, didn’t even bother with the lights. Just flopped onto my sagging couch with a grunt. My phone buzzed in my pocket, probably some coworker texting about an early shift tomorrow or whatever, but I didn’t check it. Couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I just stared up at the ceiling, all cracked and yellowed, and spotted a new spiderweb in the corner. Eh, I’ll deal with that later. Or maybe not. Who cares? Downstairs, my neighbor’s dog started yapping again, same as every freaking night. I let it fade into the background noise, figuring I’d drag myself to the shower… whenever I felt like getting up, I guess.